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West broke into violent, impotent cursing. “You’re
there, you damned wood Cree! Think I don’t
know? Think I can’t see you? Well,
I can. Plain as you can see me. You come
here an’ get me, or I’ll skin you alive
like I done last week. Hear me?”

The voice rose to a scream. It betrayed terror—­the
horrible deadly fear of being left alone to perish
in the icy wastes of the North.

Beresford crept close and waved a hand in front of
the big man’s eyes. West did not know it.
He babbled vain and foolish threats at his guide.

The convict had gone blind—­snow-blind,
and Stomak-o-sox had left him alone to make a push
for his own life while there was still time.

CHAPTER XXXV

SNOW-BLIND

West grinned up at the officer, his yellow canines
showing like tusks. His matted face was an unlovely
sight. In it stark, naked fear struggled with
craftiness and cruelty.

“Good you came back—­good for you.
I ain’t blind. I been foolin’ you
all along. Wanted, to try you out. Now we’ll
mush. Straight for the big lake. North by
west like we been going. Un’erstand, Stomak-o-sox?
I’ll not beat yore head off this time, but if
you ever try any monkey tricks with Bully West again—­”
He let the threat die out in a sound of grinding teeth.

Beresford spoke. His voice was gentle. Vile
though this murderer was, there was something pitiable
in his condition. One cannot see a Colossus of
strength and energy stricken to helplessness without
some sense of compassion.

“It’s not Stomak-o-sox. We’re
two of the North-West Mounted. You’re under
arrest for breaking prison and for killing Tim Kelly.”

The information stunned West. He stared up out
of sightless eyes. So far as he had known, no
member of the Mounted was within five hundred miles
of him. Yet the law had stretched out its long
arm to snatch him back from this Arctic waste after
he had traveled nearly fifteen hundred miles.
It was incredible that there could exist such a police
force on earth.

“Got me, did you?” he growled. He
added the boast that he could not keep back.
“Well, you’d never ‘a’ got
me if I hadn’t gone blind—­never in
this world. There ain’t any two of yore
damned spies could land Bully West when he’s
at himself.”

“Had breakfast?”

He broke into a string of curses. “No,
our grub’s runnin’ low. That wood
Cree slipped away with all we had. Wish I’d
killed him last week when I skinned him with the dog-whip.”

“How long have you been blind?”

“It’s been comin’ on two-three days.
This damned burnin’ glare from the snow.
Yesterday they give out completely. I tied myself
by a line to the Injun. Knew I couldn’t
trust him. After all I done for him too.”

“Did you know he was traveling south with you—­had
been since yesterday afternoon?”

“No, was he?” Again West fell into his
natural speech of invective. “When I meet
up with him, I’ll sure enough fill him full o’
slugs,” he concluded savagely.